The only thing worse than a nosey person is a nosey person who’s got you as a captive audience.

I’ve spent the last thirty minutes, trapped in a car with the nosiest woman on the plant. I’ve been smiling when I want to scream. Talking, when I’d rather be silent. I’ve been stifling the urge to ask “how much longer” every couple of minutes.

I arrived in Coventry by train from London this morning. My sister's best friend, Cara is getting married this weekend. We've known her since she was a little girl, so of course, we all had to come. The rest of my family has been here since Christmas. My parents decided that since we were all going, we should make a vacation of it. So, after the wedding, we're staying on the family’s estate. I couldn’t say no, but two weeks of the English countryside with my family time sounds like a recipe for panic and stress. The bright spot in my week is that my closest friend Aiden is coming up for the wedding. He lives in Wales and is going to be my plus one. Besides the therapist I’ve been seeing since I left Ghana, he’s the only person I told about Paul.

I love my family. I love seeing them, but I also hate it. Being together means I’ll get questions, and looks, and everyone tip toeing around the elephant in the room. It also means pretending I'm happy and never letting my guard down. At the end of my time with them, I always feel guilty and tired. In my last session with Liz, my counselor, she told me to think about telling my family what happened while we were all together. I want to. I just don’t know how to say the words. So, I’m prepared to tip toe and keep things to myself.

But right now, I think I'd prefer tip toeing to these women who act like bulls stampeding through a china shop when it comes to my life. I can't imagine asking a stranger the kind of questions Freya's hurling at me, but, then again, I live by the golden rule. I don't want to answer their questions so I don't ask them.

They were waiting on the platform when I arrived. Freya, the groom’s sister, is a bombshell. She’s tall, with dark hair, flawless olive skin, beautiful dark brown eyes, and a figure I eye with much envy. We’re the same height, but with curves for days. My only curve is my ass and it was only accentuated by my otherwise, flat as a board body. She hugged me hard enough to bruise my ribs. The other woman in the car, who introduced herself as the family’s housekeeper, is named Jan.

She’s a petite woman, with a head full of thick, long, gunmetal gray hair pulled back into a severe bun. Her dark eyes are friendly, but intense and she looks like she doesn’t miss a thing. She greeted me with handshake. Her grip was like a vice. She didn’t hug me, and I and my ribs were grateful for that.

As soon as we got in the car, Freya started talking and hasn’t stopped since. She’s only paused long enough to give me a chance to answer their questions and then she starts up again.

Turns out Freya is a wannabe investigative journalist who thinks she needs to know everything about me before we get back to the house. She’s already asked where I lived, if I have a boyfriend, why I live in Miami, if I like it there, if I live alone, if I go out a lot? (She loves Miami after a bachelorette weekend she spent there in her 20s). I’d answered all of her questions as politely and briefly as I could until she decided to take her questions up a notch.

"So, why are you arriving late? The rest of your family came on Christmas Day," Freya asks cheerily. She maneuvers her huge ancient Land Rover down a tree lined, two lane road. It's five days before New Year’s Eve. Five days before the wedding. Five days sooner than I wanted.

"I'm hardly late," I say. I’m unable to keep the defensiveness out of my tone, though I try to soften it with a laugh.

Jan touches my shoulder. I jump in surprise. She hasn’t said a word since we got in the car and I’d forgotten she was even there. I turn my head to see her smiling warmly, with a conspiratorial twinkle in her dark eyes. “Didn’t mean to scare you, love,” she says gently.

“I just wanted to ask if you ate on the train. You'll probably want an early lunch as soon as we get to the house. I can call ahead to tell them to have something ready.”

I give my head as gentle shake, "No, actually. I'm more tired than anything. It’s still very early in the morning my time." I tell her, relieved at the reprieve from Freya’s questioning. I suspect she knows I’m uncomfortable, but I give her a grateful smile and she pats my shoulder again softly.

"So, why didn't you get here with the rest of your family?" Freya’s cheery but demanding tone breaks my moment of serenity and I turn back to face the front as Jan’s hand slips from my shoulder.

I stare out of the front window as I try think of an answer that will satisfy her.

There's a thin but dense layer of snow on the ground. It's obvious she is used to driving under these treacherous conditions. She looks completely relaxed and has even taken her eyes off the road long enough to look at me after each question.

"Work is crazy. I couldn't get away until now," I respond. I’m trying to make sure my teeth aren’t clenched.

"Oh, I bet. My brother wasn't home for Christmas either. Work kept him away, too. But, I know he wanted to be here," she says with an empathetic smile, which makes me feel guilty because the same could not be said for me.

Jan chirps from the back seat. "Your mother loved the roast beef and Yorkshire pudding we served for Christmas dinner. She told me you're the cook in the family, I'll have to give you the recipe. You can make it next year."

"Oh, they said she never spends Christmas with them, remember?" Freya says to Jan, as if I'm not there.

And, why is my family talking about me?

"What do you do instead? Since you don’t go home," Freya asks. She shoots me a smile and for the first time I see a hint of malice behind her cheery exterior.

But when I blink, whatever I saw is gone and her smile is as friendly as it has been since I got in the car. I give myself a silent reprimand for being so cynical. She probably thinks playing twenty questions is breaking the ice.

So, I give her a small smile and shrug, “I worked. And read a little.”

My younger sister, Addie, and Cara has been best friends since they were five and reconnected when they were in college. They’re still as close as two friends can be. We all love Cara, even me. Her family was the only one that didn’t turn their backs on us when my father disappeared. They've also welcomed my parents back to Houston with open arms. Maybe Freya just wants to show that she cares about Cara and the people who love her too.

"Do you not eat Christmas dinner at all? It's the most important meal of the year, you know," Jan calls from the backseat.

"I eat whatever. I don't know. I'm usually working," I lie.

"Well, we've got plenty of leftovers. It's been such a thrill to have the great kitchen operating again. The house spends most of the year as tourist attraction or movie set. You'll have to come down and see it. Seeing how you like to cook and all," Jan says.

“A movie set?” I ask and turn around to look at her. Her smile is broad and excited with her eyes rolled dreamily to the car’s ceiling. I guess she loves the kitchen.

"Yes! Castle Burne is used for movies all the time. Didn't you do any research before you came? It's one of the country’s great houses. Cathrine Howard herself lived here," Freya interjects.

"Catherine Howard?" I ask dumbly.

"Yes, you know. Henry the Eighth's fifth wife," Freya informs me haughtily.

"Lost 'er head she did. But the Earl of Carlisle was her uncle and so before she married that maniac, she lived here," Jan chortles.

"I see," I say, genuinely intrigued. My mother is obsessed with the Tudors. She must be in heaven here.

"There's a huge original portrait of Henry in the house,” Jan says with pride.

“We have a day trip to Richmond planned for after the wedding. Your mother's been telling us all about her Tudor obsession," Freya chimes in and my head starts to hurt. They are changing subjects faster than my jet lagged brain can handle.

"You can help me with lunch," Jan informs me. I turn around to look at her again. She's smiling at me, but watching me keenly.

"I don't really cook anymore." I tell her.

"This is a perfect opportunity for you to get back into it. I don't do the cooking myself, mind you, but, I plan all the menus and oversee the presentation. We've brought in a cook for the next few weeks so I've got to keep a keen on eye on her. She's liable to burn the place down. Everything's got to be just so, especially with his Lordship and her Ladyship in residence."

Leave it to Cara to marry a member of the British Aristocracy. Louis, her intended, is the youngest son of an Earl. Which is why even though Cara is a Texas native and her parents still make their home in Houston, she is getting married here. Apparently, tradition demands that all weddings take place in their family’s chapel.

"You'll love the Castle, Lilly. We're all staying there while you're here. My children have loved playing with your nephews and your parents have had a real holiday." I listen to Freya prattle on about her children—with Jan interrupting to tell me what their favorite foods are—as I watch the picturesque countryside go by in a blur.

Even though most of the trees have lost their leaves, the evergreens that line the road lend the entire landscape charm . I've never been one for the bucolic, I have always lived in a city, but there is something about the way the land is laid out that makes me want to go and explore. The seemingly endless expanses of green are dotted with cottages, their chimney's chugging smoke.

“This is all so idyllic.” I sigh, before I can stop myself.

"Yes, very different from Miami?" Freya’s eyes light up and I kick myself for giving her the chance to start talking again.

"Yes, very," I respond absentmindedly.

"What do you eat in Miami? Lots of enchiladas?" Jan asks excitedly. I can't help but laugh at her question.

“Not so much, Miami’s fare is mainly Cuban influenced.”

"Oh, like what? Rice and beans and pork and such?"

"Yes, and sandwiches and fried plantains. Though Miami's a melting pot, especially when it comes to food. I can find anything I'm in the mood for." I surprise myself with how many words I just said, but Jan's excitement about the food is contagious.

"I want to try a mojito, one day," she says.

"I can make one for you. If you've got rum and we can find some limes. The rest of the ingredients are typical household ingredients."

"Oh, we have limes, lovey. We have everything. Before you leave, I’ll hold you to it.”

"Okay, sounds like a plan." I smile broadly, honestly excited at the prospect.

"You said you own a business. What is it?" Freya demands. I don’t miss Jan’s small frown before I turn around to answer Sherlock’s question.

“I build cyber security networks for companies all over the world. I also have a pretty robust private investigation business. Mainly doing background checks on potential employees and business partners. And I've recently started getting a lot of clients who are looking for cyber dirt on their cheating spouses," I tell her.

She gasps and whips her head around to look at me, her eyes wide. She stares at me for a couple of beats before I glance back the road in front of us, giving my eyebrows a meaningful arch.

She flushes a little and looks back at the road, but grasps the steering wheel, and leans forward to ask excitedly: "Are you serious? That sounds so exciting. I mean I can't imagine you get a ton of clients like that. I mean, do people actually want to know if their spouses are cheating?" she asks in disbelief.

"Uh, yes,” I say dryly. “I have a waiting list of clients and I'm booked solid for the next eighteen months." I reach into my purse, open my wallet and pull out a card.

"Here's my card." I hand it to her. I wink, but don't smile.

She pales and shakes her head and looks back at the road. "No, thank you. I wouldn't have any need for it. But, uh...congratulations on your business success." She's all politeness and distance now. This is the typical reaction of married people, when I tell them what I do.

Jan snatches the card from me just as I'm withdrawing my hand.

"I'll take that. M' sister's husband is a no good so and so. He's suddenly taken to eating lots of pineapple. And you know what they say about men eating pineapple?"

"No...I don't think I know that." I share a bewildered glance with Freya.

"Well," Jan begins with relish in her voice, "They say that if a man eats pineapple, it makes his sperm taste better."

"Oh my God, Jan. Don't be vulgar," Freya squawks. I laugh, my first real laugh of the day at this woman who I'm liking more with every word that comes out of her mouth.

"It's not vulgar, Freya. You need to live a little," she says dismissively. "Well, anyhow. My sister’s never complained about the taste before and suddenly he's worried about it. But guess what?" she pauses dramatically and now I turn around in my seat to face her.

"My sister said she stopped blow'n ‘im when he stopped returning the favor and that it's been months. But he’s still eating pineapples. Drives all the way to Marks and Sparks to get them when they aren't in season. I'm convinced he's got some slag tucked away. I'll give my sister your card," she says as she tucks my card into her purse.

"You do that. If he's playing away, I'll find out," I tell her as I turn around.

Freya's gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles are turning pink. I see she's got a bleak expression on her face as she focuses on the road. I wonder what her story is.

Most people think they know their significant other. Turns out, most people are wrong. No one completely knows anyone. And anyone, even the most astute is capable of being deceived. Especially when they're “blinded by love.”

I’ve watched my parents live out their completely improbably Happily Ever After. Both of my sisters are madly in love with amazing men. I’m afraid I’ll never have that.

I didn’t even know I wanted love and happily ever afters. Not until I ruined the first real chance I’ve ever had at it by lying and running away.

I was a mess when I left the hotel. It took me weeks to stop wasting entire days thinking of him. And now, it's only my sleep he haunts. I have vivid dreams where I can feel him inside me. In my dreams I talk to him. I tell him everything and he still wants to kiss me and touch me.

I wake up in the middle of the orgasms that his mouth or fingers or cock have brought me to only find myself alone, cold, and unbearably sad.

If he knew the truth about me, he wouldn't kiss me. He wouldn't want to hold me and he certainly wouldn't touch me the way he did. No one would. So, I live a lie and I know that nothing can grow in the shadow and darkness my deceit has created.

Leaving in the way I did was shitty, but it was the right thing to do. There was too much dishonesty. I was starting to have real feelings for him and there was no future in it. He would have been disgusted once he’d found out how much I lied to him. The woman he thought he wanted to keep seeing doesn’t exist.

I regret leaving the way I did, but it’s a wasted emotion. I'm never going to see him again, so there's no way for me to make it up to him. And as amazing as the time we spent together was, I don't know if I was just one in many for him. He’d been engaged before, whether he loved her or not, he’d been in a relationship for years.

One of my coping tools over the last few months has been to tell myself that what I felt was one-sided and that he was just doing what men do—fuck the women they find attractive.

But then, I recall the real tenderness in his eyes, the feather light touches of his hands on my cheek as he wiped away my tears and I know I let something special slip from my grasp. Regret may be a wasted emotion, but I feel it in spades every time I think of him.

The sudden slamming of the car's brakes sends me flying forward in my seat and shakes me out of my thoughts. Freya's hand comes across my chest as if she could stop me from flying out the window with it.

I glance at her and she moves it back to the steering wheel. Her eyes are wide, but her smile is bright.

"You two okay? I'm sorry, a herd of stag ran by and I was afraid they were going to dart into the road," she says a breathlessly.

"A what of what?" I ask, looking around but not seeing anything but the still quiet woods that line either side of the road.

"A herd of stag, stag are male deer. And they usually lead the herd, so I'm assuming the females are close behind. I need to keep an eye out. Nothing is more devastating than hitting a deer...for both the animal and the car," she says grimly.

"Oh, but venison makes the most delicious stew," Jan sing songs happily behind me.

"We're almost there." Freya peers out of her windshield as if it's snowing heavily. It's not. It must have fallen after they left because our tires are the first to drive over the fresh snowfall. The snow and the near miss with the deer have clearly affected her confidence and she’s driving more slowly now, her focus fully on the road.

We ride in a blissful silence the rest of the way. As the snow-covered landscape rolls by, I use the quiet to relax and prepare myself. I know I'll need to have my "Lilly" face on when we get to their house. Good old Lilly, happy, warm, and strong. It's an exhausting act, but I play the role every time I see them. They never notice that it's a veneer, strong but so thin.

She takes a slow turn on a lane that appears out of nowhere off the main road and my breath catches in my throat. The trees that line both sides of the road have branches that meet in the middle, creating a snow covered arbor that stretches out ahead of us. It feels like we've entered an enchanted forest.

"This is beautiful," I breathe out. The knot of unease that usually has a permanent home in the center of my chest eases slightly. This place feels like home.

"Thank you. It is. Isn't it?” I can hear the pride in her voice and I completely understand it. This place is spectacular. “Our family has lived on this land for hundreds of years and this is one of the original features of the estate."

The sunlight breaks through the branches and gives the road a halo as we drive down it.

"I've enjoyed driving up and down it all week. We don't live in the main house anymore, so I don't have occasion to drive up this way often. At night fairy lights come on and it's stunning."

"So, where do you all live?" I ask thinking it’s only polite since she'd opened the door.

"We live in the cottages that used to be occupied by the estates tenants. The blacksmith’s, different farmers, head of the village schools, all sorts. The only one we still maintains is the vicarage."

"I still live in the house. Me, and Mr. Barryman - the Butler, and the staff that keeps the house running all year round do—below the stairs, of course," Jan pipes up from the back.

She might as well be speaking Greek, but it sounds fascinating to me and I laugh as I say: "Oh, it's like Downton Abbey for real."

“Yes, but without all the scandal,” Freya says proudly.

When we exit the tunnel of trees, the sun's bright light bounces off the brilliant snow creating a soft white glow that momentarily blinds me. But when the fog lifts, my laughter dies in my throat as the biggest house I've ever seen in my life comes into view.

"Oh my God, it's a castle!" I exclaim, as I take in the moss-covered, stone and glass behemoth that sits on the crest of the hill we're climbing. We're still on the same narrow drive, but we're abutted on either side by what looks like open pastured dotted with tiny stone statues and buildings. This part of the drive is dotted with fully decorated Christmas trees. As we pass the first pair, I realize they're all at least ten feet tall. I’m awestruck.

"What are those?" I point at the structures that dot snow covered grass stretching as far as the eye can see.

Freya glances in the direction of my finger and says: "Oh those are temples - they were built in the eighteenth century. When the aristocracy was still idle and had time to lounge and hold lunch parties."

"The cellars below them still function, though we use them for storage now rather than a place where the servants toiled while their masters stuffed their faces, hunted, and raced horses. Oh, I think I would have enjoyed the days when the house was in its prime. Planning menus every day, planning parties, hiring extra staff, getting guest quarters ready. That's been the best part of all of this."

I gawk at the amazing structures. "And what's that tall one, with all the columns?"

"That's our family's mausoleum. It's still in use. Even though my brother Harry says he'll be the first Earl to buck the custom. As if he'll have much of a say when he's dead."

She laughs raucously. But I barely hear it. My ears roar with the blood my heart's suddenly increased rate sends pumping through my veins. My stomach twists.

Harry.

I've tried not to let his name float into my head. I can't repress the guilt that always accompanies the memory of him. How good he made me feel. How much I regret my cowardice and my dishonesty. I force myself to stop the spiral of despair these thoughts always lead to. There's nothing I can do about it now. No matter how badly I wish I could.

I force myself to focus on the conversation at hand. "So, your brother's an Earl?" I ask, trying to sound casual again.

"Not yet, he holds an honorary title of Viscount Greysmith. My father's the Earl,” she says pedantically.

"I knew that," I slap my forehead lightly as my memory is refreshed. "Sorry, I'm just in awe of this place." I glance ahead and the house is less than a mile away now and as we get closer it only looks bigger.

"How much land does it sit on?" I ask her as I take it all in. It’s unbelievable. I normally loathe the cold. It’s why I moved to Miami after college. But there’s something about this place that feels settling.

"About three thousand acres," she says casually while I continue to gawk.

"It used to be twenty thousand acres. But over the centuries, pieces have been sold off. The train station I picked you up from, used to be part of the estate." I nod my head in wonderment. This is like something from a fairytale. I didn't know people still lived like this.

"No one lives in the main house now?" I ask without taking my eyes from the window. At Jan's exaggerated cough I amend my question, "No one lives upstairs in the main house, I mean?"

"No. We even had to apply to the National Heritage Register to close off the main part of the house for our personal use for the next two weeks."

"To use your own house?"

"They pay for most of the upkeep, employ the tour guides, maintain all of the water features, parks, and walks, which are always open to the public. It's too big for us to live in anyway; the heating bills alone would cripple us. So, it's a tradeoff we're happy to make. And our cottages are very spacious. I'll have you all over to mine for dinner while you're here."

"Wow. It’s remarkable that all of this still belongs to your family."

"Yeah, it's incredible. You should explore while you're here. You can take boat trips on the lake in the Spring and Summer, but even now, the Atlas Fountain is a sight to behold."

"The vegetable gardens, the farm, the creamery, the mills, and restaurant are some of the best in the country. Our brewery also brews a well-received ale. All of that is overseen by Master Harry." I know it's my imagination that makes it sound like Jan puts an emphasis on Harry. I turn around to look at her. She smiles back at me innocuously.

"The rose gardens and the vistas from the follies are very popular with tourists. The Temple of the Four Winds is particularly notorious for its views. Even though the house is closed, the store and restaurant are still open." She glances at the clock on the dash of her car. "In fact, it should be opening in about twenty minutes." She speeds up and in a minute we're pulling up to the courtyard of the house.

As soon as the car pulls into the drive and stops in front of the behemoth of a house, the front door flies open and my nephew Anthony comes bursting out. My heart jumps in joy at the sight of him. He's such a big boy and the dark haired, dark eyed version of my father. I forget some of my anxiety when I see him and give him a huge grin and wave as we come to a stop on the drive way.

"Oh, he's been going crazy waiting for you to arrive. He wanted to come with me so badly, but his mother wanted him to finish breakfast and he was still eating when we left," Freya says with a laugh in her voice. I gather my bags and pat the little parcel I'm carrying for him.

"It's the most important meal of the day, especially for a young lad like him. Cook made lots of sausages - from the estate butcher - mountain of scones, lots of fresh stone fruit, too. He'll be nice and full now," Jan says just as she jumps down. It's only then that I notice a stately man dressed like he's going to a funeral standing directly behind the truck.

Freya throws the car into park. I open the door and jump down to greet Anthony.

"Aunty Lilly! You're here!" He squeals as he launches himself at me.

I catch him but have to take a step back to steady myself.

"Good Lord, babe, you've grown so much! I won't be able to pick you up for much longer."

His little arms wrap around my neck and he giggles.

"Mommy says she has to work out extra to pick me up now." He squeezes me and says, “I’ve missed you. I was scared you weren't coming."

I feel a pang of guilt at this. I haven't been to visit them since I got back from Ghana and he’s been begging me to come for a while.

But I just squeeze him back, "Of course I was coming, who else would bring you your favorite cookies?"

He jumps down and claps his hands at me, "You brought them? Oh, I've been so good!"

"He certainly has been." My sister Milly walks out of the house looking like a café au lait Aphrodite in her white chunky sweater and jeans. Her red hair is longer than I've ever seen it. She usually wears it pin straight, but she's let her curls out today and it flies behind her in thick strands of copper as she walks toward us with a huge smile on her face. She's practically glowing and I know why as soon as her boyfriend Dean steps out of the house. He’s Apollo to her Aphrodite. All blond, tall and gorgeous. I throw my arms around her for a hug. For so long Milly was my role model and my sounding board. Whenever we first see each other we fall back into the easy kinship we shared for most of our lives.

"Lillian, you're late," she jokes, and squeezes me. "You look beautiful," she whispers in my ear.

"And you look pregnant," I whisper back. She leans away and looks at me wide eyed, her eyes a mirror image of my own. She mouths "Shhh!" I give her another squeeze and laugh as I disengage.

Dean steps up and folds me into a huge hug. He’s been in Milly’s life since they were teenagers and between the way he loves her and how he’s embraced Anthony, he’s quickly become one of my favorite people.

I hug him back and say, “Good to see you. Thank you for taking good care of my girl.”

"She takes good care of me too." His smile is as big as mine.

"Oh, I know she does. You look great.”

I look at both of them. “Neither of you look like you just finished a major renovation on your new house two weeks ago.”

“We’ve gotten a lot of sleep since we’ve been here.” Milly smiles, “Glad you’re here, sis. I’ve missed you.” I hug her again and love how good it feels to be with her. “Me, too sissypoo.”

"Let's get your bags inside,” Freya says as she joins us. She’s smiling like she's just seen the end of a Hallmark Channel movie. “You guys are just like us. So close. This is going to be the best week.”

Dean walks off to the car to get my suitcase and Freya links arms with me and drags me into the house.

"So, Harry's coming up today. He's been in London on business. He'll be here any minute. We would have had him pick you up, but he's notoriously late, so I came instead."

I wish she would stop saying his name. But maybe it would be helpful if I could replace the face I associate with that name. Then maybe I could get a decent night’s sleep.

"Let's go inside and see Mom and Dad. They're taking this Lord and Lady of the Manor thing really seriously. They breakfast in the apartments," Milly informs us as she follows us inside.

Anthony runs up behind me. "We've all got our own apartments upstairs, Aunty Lilly."

I make my eyes wide and say, "That's incredible. I can't wait to see!"

I step inside and just like when we pulled into the estate, I'm stunned speechless. It's like stepping to a wonderland, a cathedral, or an opulent hotel. I've never seen anything like this in my life. The foyer is littered with sculptures and busts and composed of Baroque arches and columns. The entire space is covered by a domed ceiling that looks like it's a hundred feet high, with a mural of angels, winged god’s commanding horse drawn chariots, girls in virginal white dresses, playing harps or plucking grapes, painted across it.

I can't believe people actually live here.

"Take it all in, but don't forget about my mojito. Ask for directions to the kitchens when you're settled," Jan says loudly before she disappears down one of the corridors of the house.

We're just about to head up the magnificent staircase, Anthony’s running ahead to tell me which of the branches of the steps we need to take to reach my apartment when Freya yells up.

"Wait, don't go up yet. Harry's here and he's only staying for a minute before he heads to the store."

My heart jumps at his name, again. But, I waggle my eyebrows at Anthony as we turn and walk back down the stairs. My parents come down the stairs behind me.

"Lilly, you're here." My mother calls in her lilting West African accent. I turn to watch her and my father walk down the stairs. He looks great. His red hair is more faded, than it was last time I saw him, but he's smiling as he and my mother come down arm in arm to the landing where I'm standing.

"Sweetheart, so glad you're finally here," my father says. He bends down to press a kiss on my cheek. My mother beams at me and I smile at her. "You guys look great. I'm glad to be here, too."

"Lilly, Mary, Omar, and Sir Anthony, this is my wayward twin brother, Harry." Freya calls in a voice full of glee and I turn around, so happy to see my parents that this time, I don't register the name.

I wish I had. I would have been schooling my face, my mind, my heart. Because when I turn around, there he stands. For a split second we smile at each other in surprise, but then like thunder rolling in before a terrible storm, his entire face darkens.

"Lilly?” His dark brows slash down with the severity of his frown as he looks between my mother and me.

“Mary?" He asks, his voice low and controlled, clearly not sure which name belongs to me.

Shit! Damn! Fuck everything to hell!

I swallow the ball of dread in my throat and glance at Freya. Her smile has completely disappeared as she looks between us. I’m suddenly freezing, as if all the blood has drained from my body despite my hammering heart telling me differently. I wrap my coat tighter around myself and stare at the scene unfolding in absolute horror.

"I'm Mary." My mother steps around me and continues down the stairs to where they're standing. Harry doesn’t take his eyes off me as she approached him. Only when she’s standing directly in front of him does he look at her.

The anger seems to disappear as he smiles warmly at her. But, I can see the tick of the muscle in his jaw, as well as how the hand that's not shaking my mother's, has curled into a fist. He grips so tightly that his knuckles look like they might pop and break free of his hand.

My toes curl as I take him in. He looks gorgeous. I thought my memory was being generous when it recalled him. If anything, he’s even more handsome now than he was then. He's wearing jeans, a thick dark grey sweater and a black leather jacket over it all. His hair is longer, his curls more luxurious.

I want to slap myself. Who cares about his curls? This is a full-scale nightmare.

I watch him talking to my parents and it's like watching a car barreling toward you and knowing that no matter what you do, you can't avoid the impact. This is the worst thing that could have happened. I have no cover, nothing to shield me from the full body blow this is going to be. Oh God.

"I'm Omar, this our grandson, Anthony, and our daughter, Lilly." As my dad moves to stand by my mother's side, he glances at me quickly, one of his cinnamon eyebrows arched in question. My dad always knows when something is up and now is no different. If he'd been around during the last five years, there is no way I could have kept everything bottled up.

I close my eyes and wish for the floor to open up and swallow the entire room whole, or that I could rewind and find an excuse to miss this wedding.

Harry looks away from my parents and back to me. His dark eyes are the epitome of cold rage.

"Lilly?" My name leaves his mouth and travels the space between us like a dangerous storm cloud.

"Harry," I say lamely. My voice is barely above a whisper. My chest is tight, my whole body feels hot and cold, like I have a fever. Freya comes to stand beside him and nudges him with her elbow. He glances down at her and his eyes close briefly. When he opens them, all of their ire becomes completely opaque and enigmatic before he looks away from me and back to the rest of the people in the hall.

"Welcome! I'm sorry I can't stay. I'm late getting to the store," he says. It’s directed to parents, and then without another word, he leaves.

We all stand there in an awkward silence as we watch him retreat.

“We were just going for a walk when you caught us, Lilly. Go get settled in, we’ll see you at lunch,” my mother says in her trademark calm. She’s always been like this. Able to ignore tension, an expert at avoiding confrontation. She drags my father off in the same direction Harry just left in. He looks over his shoulder at me as they walk away, a question still marks his face. I look away.

Freya bends down to smile brightly at Anthony, "Okay, sweetie. Why don't you show your Auntie to her room?"

"Okay, I can do that," Anthony says, as he solemnly accepts the responsibility.

She gives his unruly curls a light tousle as she straightens. I watch them with a fond smile, my looming crisis momentarily forgotten. That is until her eyes meet mine. The cold, but palpable anger in them chills me to the bone.

When she passes me, walking in the direction Harry just left, her eyes never leave mine. As she brushes past me, she whispers: "Hello, Emma."

She knows.

My heart falls to my toes and tears prick the back of my eyes.

I'm tempted to grab her hand, to beg her to understand. But, Anthony starts to pulling me up the stairs. He’s talking a mile a minute, oblivious to the impending disaster.